


Broken Crowns

by drippingwithsin



Category: Wentworth (TV)
Genre: Dubious Consent, F/F, Hostage Situations, Mental Instability
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-20
Updated: 2020-07-31
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:40:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25344817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drippingwithsin/pseuds/drippingwithsin
Summary: Just when everything has settled Vera gets an unexpected 'visitor'.
Relationships: Vera Bennett/Joan Ferguson
Comments: 12
Kudos: 38





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This has been partially written for a very long time. Since I think when season six's trailers dropped two years ago. Not even joking. So yeah looog time. Thought I trudge it up and tweak it for season 8 though. Which btw who's excited for that? Won't be long ey? I am so ready.

Twilight is inarguably the most beautiful time of the day. In its grasp, blue luminous provides the entire land with just enough light for creatures who ran amok during the day, slowed to begin searching for a safe spot to slumber for the night. Today, however, nature decides to forgo its norm. Beauty and peace decide to wreak havoc. Thunder rumbles in the distance. Lightning flashes. There’s a storm brewing on the horizon making its way steadily closer. 

The former governor now trudges into the house, tossing her keys precariously into a strategically placed ceramic bowl only to wince when they clatter sharply.

_ClickClickClick..._

The rapid sound of her heels on the wood flooring sounds out like a machine gun firing in the nearly deafening silence and Vera finds it incredibly odd. This quiet. There is no babysitter to greet her, any nonsense babbling or even wailing. Just silence.

She didn’t like this. Didn’t really want to do this. It just seemed too soon. But Bridget assured her it’ll be fine. All mothers go through this. Something about separation anxiety and the lot. They are her godmothers. Grace is old enough. Not to mention her daughter(her one and only child) has taken a rather immense liking to a certain ex-inmate. Much to Franky’s delight and her absolute horror.

Oh, how cruel the fates can be.

Vera has to begrudgingly admit, however, Franky is an absolute angel when it comes to Grace. Tough girl exterior never failing to melt when captured in the full-on beam of a toothless grin. It was quite adorable really. 

Not surprisingly the scene has Bridget now practically ticking each time she sees them together. Biological clock and all that. Vera half expects a discussion for a baby Fidget soon.

_Mercy on us all._

A heavy sigh and Vera heads to her room to change out of her skirt powersuit combo, emerging a few moments later in yoga pants and plain white T-shirt, her hair pulled back in a loose pony. She stands idly in the entryway to the lounge room, inwardly twiddling her thumbs.

Well….

What the fuck did she do before Grace?

Ah yes.

Vera makes a beeline for the fridge and pulls out her favourite engine-coolant. She pours herself a glass, making sure not to overindulge as it’s been awhile and wants to remain at least semi-conscious before calling it a night. 

A healthy gulp is quickly followed by another.

Muscles melt, bones settle and for the first time in what seems like ages, Vera relaxes. She needed this.

Her first few days back at Wentworth from maternity leave were a rather odd bunch with the riot having thrown a proverbial monkey wrench into the everyday norm.

Will is still at the head. Barely. His affair with a certain slimy snake haven stripped away any shred of male pride he ever possessed, the poor man is nothing but a husk. Pathetic and withdrawn. 

Speaking of snakes, Jake is still slithering around being annoyingly persistent and with Will being out of sorts she has no real barrier between them to tell him to fuck off when he becomes a bit too much.

Avoidance is key and Vera does. _Constantly_

Luckily for her, more change is coming one in the form of someone which has bubbles of anticipation since the news first reaches keen ears. Ann Reynolds of all people is to become the new General Manager. Christ, Vera hasn’t seen nor even heard that name since her academy days. The woman hasn’t changed much. Still, the same kind, understanding person she once was. 

A perfect fit for this trying time really.

On the other hand, some weren’t so easily replaced. Liz Birdsworth for instance. Vera feels a tug. It still is so strange. The mother of the prisoner, the sweet patient glue who kept them all together is actually gone. 

Grace Elizabeth you have some very big shoes to fill.

Oh, and Boomer poor sweet Boomer is lost. They tried to paint her as a monster in the courtroom. A beast without mercy. _Ridiculous._ If anything Boomer is nothing but merciful. She did the right thing. Unconventional as it may be. Vera tells her as much. Understands far more than anyone. Still, the large woman remains a ghost of her former self. 

She isn’t the only one who changes. 

Novak of all people is now topdog. Dark blonde hair sheared shoulder length and bleached with a heavy layer of slap reminiscent Franky’s earlier days. Sweet wounded eyes now hardened by the squeeze of a trigger. She is transformed. 

The metamorphosis makes Vera uncomfortable-extremely so- after all, she knows from experience what happens when you try to become something you’re not. Allie may be a seasoned prisoner but hard she is not. All it will take is one new alpha on the scene. Just one with actual teeth and she knew Allie would not last very long.

A tender heart clenches. She's still so young. Too young. Allie deserves more than to die on a filthy linoleum floor. The image of Proctor's sprawled out body flashes within her mind's eye. Nobody deserves that. But what can she possibly do? Vera is just a screw to them. A nuisance infected by the plague. She contaminates whoever speaks to her and they, in turn, are branded and isolated- or worse.

A deep cleansing sigh. Sometimes she absolutely hated her job. 

Vera's startled sharply out of her musing when a house rattling clap of thunder sounds. The storm outside is worsening and she hopes the power will remain on even as she begins to search for candles and a torch. She hates being left alone in the dark. 

After a moment her fear becomes reality when just as she locates a bag of tea candles the power snaps off without so much as a flicker. She inwardly curses, knowing it means they’ll be off for a while. 

Candles, torch, oil lamp. 

She places them strategically around the house, illuminating only the necessary places. No need to waste batteries and wax.

Metal against metal there’s a telltale _click_. Her front door. But who? Jake? Christ, she hopes not. Ever since Grace’s birth he’s been following her around like a sad little lost puppy. Well, an angry puppy now since he somehow found out the first person or rather person(s) Grace will be spending the night with wasn't going to be him. 

Oh, Vera suspects if someone were looking in from the outside they’ll argue on his behalf. A father’s right and all that. But with everything. Their past, his past. Trust needed to be there and it just wasn’t….Not to mention that rundown shithole he calls an apartment.

Honestly, why can’t he just fuck off and finally have a go at Linda?

“Jake,” Vera decides to shout anyway, exiting the kitchen. She enters the dim stretch of hallway leading to the front door when short legs come to an abrupt halt when the silhouette of a person comes into view. Large frame eclipsing the door they stand in the darkness. Not Jake.

Deep down Vera knows she should be doing something, anything. She’s been over this scenario a thousand times in her head. If/when an intruder were to enter in her home she was supposed to run. Grab a weapon. Call the police. But for reasons unknown to Vera she can not seem to make her body want to move.

They take a step forward. The movement snapping her out of it just long enough to remember the torch been desperately white-knuckled. In a quick shakily swept she brings the light to the figure and gasps. 

The world slows; tilting on its axis. Vera's vision tunnels. Fear surges violently through her breast. Cresting and pounding in her eardrums with the rapid beating of her heart. No. There's a sharp **clunk** of metal against wood, a heavy rolling sound then finally silence. The torch remains lays illuminating the far wall.

_No. Nonono, it couldn’t be._

_Joan_ As if on cue, lightning flashes illuminating the inky figure in a hellish glow for a split second. Burgundy lips curl into a cat-like smile within the darkness.

“Hello, Vera.”

**TBC...**


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She has risen.

The haunting sound squires Vera straight through her soul and against her will conjures up the grotesque image of a mummified corpse hidden away deep in the brush. Their withered decomposed face forever twisted in a terrified grimace as they tried vainly to protect themselves with a raised arm. At the time, Vera had to force herself to quit staring. Her mind too captured in a whirl of memories, conversations, betrayal and lessons. It was unbelievable, really. A woman of such power meeting an end such as that.

_How do you know she didn't dig her way out?_

Vera makes a strangled noise when the wraith blinks. She's alive. Oh God, she's alive. Her doe blue eyes begin to dart wildly. A petite body tenses. Vera takes a step backwards. Joan follows the movement with keen interest, one hand lifting halfway in a faux placating manner.

“Don’t run.” The sonorous rich tone sends a mouse's heart into overdrive and a shiver down Vera's back.

Another step.

Abyssal eyes narrow in on the insubordination.

“ **Don’t** ,” One word. Final. The command falters Vera momentary. Torn between driven in obedience and self-preservation, her mind stutters a bit.

_Fuck it._

Vera turns and lunges into a full-on stride, running as fast as petite legs can carry her.

Behind her, the full bounding stride of a Baskervilles hound draws nearer. Maw wide, teeth stained bloody. _Ohgodohgodohgod_. She has only a meter of distance on Joan and knows it's only a matter of time before she feels the full might of the immense woman slamming into her back.

Vera arrives at her bedroom, flings the door open and rushes inside, slamming it back and hastily twists the lock into place.

A large fist begins to beat at the door as the doorknob jiggles wildly. 

“Open the door, Vera! Open the door _now_!”

She makes a beeline to the window, but for some reason it’s not unlocking. Her fingers are too shaky. Too weak. She's trapped. 

Hopelessness begins to prickle at oceanic eyes. Vera slaps at the glass frantically. “Help! Somebody help me! Please!”

The wind howls, sweeping sheets of rain against the other side of the window. Thunder rumbles, the sound nearly deafening. God has since long since abandoned and now Vera's left with no mercy. 

The pounding from behind continues until the wood begins to creak and groan under the strain. It will not hold for long. Desperate now, Vera scrambles around the room trying to find something. Anything to defend herself.

There’s nothing.

**CRASH**

The devil has arrived and she’s come to collect her due. Fully and intact.

**TBC....**


	3. Chapter 3

Joan rounds on Vera immediately, eyes smouldering with promises of death and annihilation. Nostrils flared. She rushes toward her. Claws extended, sharp teeth bared the lioness doesn't have a torn in her paw for the mouse this time, but an empty belly. 

Letting out a screech, Vera attempts to dive across the bed only to have a grip like steel wrap around her middle. A full weight brings Vera down, slamming face-first into the mattress.

Everything spins and Vera finds herself on her back.

“Joan, please!”

Joan straddles Vera in one swift move, using her sheer weight to pin the smaller woman down. She reaches for a slender throat. Squeezing. “Did you have anything to do with it? Huh! You diseased little mouse!?”

Vera flails desperately, clawing at the hands. 

The pressure eases. Vera breaths, grasping greedily. "Joan, please. I don't know what you're talking about. I-"

Joan roughly yanks from the petite woman from the bed by the collar, bringing them face to face. The heat from her breath blasting Vera's face. “You know _precisely_ of what I’m talking about. You and those two pathetic excuses of men buried me alive.”

“No,” 

“You did,” Joan accuses, words akin to chilled vodka washing over the much smaller woman's entire being. “You left me there to rot.”

Vera scrambles desperately, thoughts a chaotic mess of battles breaking out between flight or fight. Physically neither is an option but Vera knows she must do something. 

Grace’s sweet face flashes across her mind’s eye. She thinks of not seeing it change as her daughter grows, not being there for her first steps, her first day of school, first date. Grace growing up without a mother, without her, and Vera knows what she must do. Despite the overwhelming fear, her stomach churns unpleasantly. Stormy blues slip close and she sends a silent apology to an old friend. 

“It wasn’t me,” Vera admits painfully. The thread of loyally snaps deep within. It's all downhill from here. “It was Will. He did it. Wanted to get revenge on you for Bea.”

“Then explain to me why were you at the gravesite then?” Joan lets out a low hum of disbelief.

Vera's heart does a complete backflip. How did she know? How the fuck did she-

"Well?" The word cracks like a whip. 

“He-" Vera swallows thickly. The truth really is a bastard. "He wanted to prove he actually did it.”

 _Christ_. _I am so sorry, Will. But I have to think of my daughter._

The expression does not change.

“Joan, please!” Vera pleads, begging for mercy where there is none to speak of. “Think about it. Why would I put my life, my career on the line to save you only to kill you and in such a horrible way!?” 

Joan falters, and Vera can almost see the thoughts swirling and piecing themselves together in those deep dark depths. The grip loosens but does not retract.

“You said it yourself,” Vera continues on, repeating that infamous day in medical over. Joan waving her over with a fresh rope burn around her neck, face grateful but irritatingly smug. “My humanity always wins out.”

A penetrating gaze enters into Vera’s very soul, probing for any signs of deceit. A long agonizing moment follows, the seconds ticking by like hours before finally a decision is made. Vera falls back against the mattress when the grip on her shirt suddenly releases. The weight atop her slides away and Vera dares to let out a breath in relief. 

It does not long.

“Get up,”


End file.
